Ninety years ago, some pretty remarkable things happened in the world. The country was on the verge of a devastating influenza pandemic, the waning months of World War I, and in the middle of Woodrow Wilson’s presidency. But, in the predominantly Polish north end of Toledo, something else happened in the dead of winter on February 17, 1918. Stanislaw (Stanley) Kordowski, my grandfather, was born. Just a few years before that, his parents–Roman and Rosalia Kordowski–emigrated from Poland with the hopes of a better life for themselves and their family. In the end, they achieved that, but the path they travelled was harder than they ever could have wanted. If they’d known what was to come, they might well have stayed home.
Just a few years after Stanley’s birth, Roman was dead of a heart attack. I don’t think he’d even reached his 40th birthday. In the midst of the Great Depression, he left behind a wife who was still learning English and five young children of whom Stanley was the first. But…Rosalia was strong (her fashion sense, not so much, see below) and her son learned well from her. By the age of seven, Stanley was working to help provide for his family, his mother, his younger brother and three sisters. He grew up proud and loved with a strong work ethic and unwavering sense of duty. Stanley was a survivor. He was unbelievably stubborn, just like his mother. Neither of them had a choice. He took advantage of Roosevelt’s New Deal and went to work for the Civilian Conservation Corps. He’d later count that among one of the best times of his life. He got paid. He got to see different parts of the country. He learned. He probably also enjoyed being away from a house full of women 
When war broke out again, he joined the Navy with his brother, Chet. 
As did many, he saw the world and unspeakable horrors serving on the U.S.S. Colorado. He provided naval support at the Battle of Tarawa. One day, from the deck of the Colorado, he watched another Navy ship take a devastating torpedo blast. It was most certainly not the first time he’d ever seen such a thing, but this time, on this ship, his baby brother was on board.
For months, in the fog of war, Stanley had no idea whether Chet had lived or died. He must have agonized over what he would eventually have to tell their mother. Then later, while on leave in a bar, he ran into Chet. He was alive and well though recovering from serious wounds. Again, Stan and his brother survived. They would later return home safely to their families.
In 1944, Stanley married the love of his life, Cecelia Minor. She was from the right side of town, beautiful, vibrant, and the catch of the county (a real tomato!). I will tell her story another day, but they had 3 children together and continued their life in Toledo.
Stanley worked for Chrysler as a tool and die maker. His pride, faith and work ethic never left him and he expected nothing less from his own family. He could build anything with his hands and taught all of it to his own son. (That contraption project my sister wrote about? Next Generation Kordowski ingenuity right there!)
Until I grew up, I knew very little of those things about him. He was Grandpa Kordowski. He was quick and funny, proud and neat. He was a terrible driver. ;) He would let me sit on his lap for hours watching mostly wildlife documentaries. He would snore and laugh heartily whenever I teased him about his big nose. It was a strong Polish nose and one that later sprouted on my own face (karma). I have less hair in mine than he did, so at least there’s that. He gave crushing bear hugs and wouldn’t stop until I laughed (or peed). We took walks to the ice cream shop and the library a few blocks from their house (in Trenton, MI by then). On the way there, he took me to a playground that will always be Grandpa’s Park to me. He loved to dance with his wife. He taught me to sing songs in Polish. I never understood why he would laugh so hard when I repeated what he told me. I was sixteen before my grandmother finally threw a roll at him and told me I was singing something about a cow having large breasts.
He came to my school plays, my recitals, later the wrestling meets where all I did was cheer. It didn’t matter, he came. He was there the day I graduated from college in 1993. I only wish I’d known how little time we had left after that. Less than a year. He gave my future husband a ringing endorsement that day, after watching him eat nearly his entire weight in crablegs at a celebratory seafood buffet. “You’re all right kid,” he whispered, his eyes twinkling.
You were all right too Grandpa. We all turned out okay and it’s in large part because of the lessons you taught us about hard work, integrity and family. Busia and Dzia Dzia Kordowski made the right choice (ok, maybe not about the pink shower cap).
I love you and miss you everyday.
This is how I most remember my grandparents.
(We were SOOOOO loving our nation’s capital at this particular moment.)